From Paris to Prison

From Paris to prison             Biography/live gig review by Markus Oldham of Gutter Magazine

As I make my way down the stairs to the basement of the black sparrow bar I am greeted by a thin, blonde, Smokey girl wearing an eye patch who smiles at me revealing a missing front tooth. She asks me for the £3 entrance fee. I tell her who i am and who I work for which only seems to remove the smile from her face as she repeats her request for £3. 
I’m here tonight to see From Paris to Prison; a Glasgow based three piece who play what they describe as grunk music; the sound of God being drunk. I would describe it as the underbelly of pop music. Their songs are extremely catchy yet hard edged with lyrics about gambling, drinking, self abuse, dying young and degrading woman. They are songs that are instantly memorable for their directness and simplicity yet you feel dirty listening to them.
The three members first met when each of them were arrested for separate offence's on the same night and found themselves sharing a cell. During there 3 day wait to see the judge on Monday morning they discovered a mutual interest in music. From then on they would either book rehearsal rooms under false names and do a runner before paying or break in to the same rehearsal rooms after business hours and use the facilities through the night. 
They are due to take the stage at 11pm according to the stressed soundman.  This is their monthly showcase where they play themselves as well as book the bands to play along side them. Just before 11 the stage gets decorated with mutilated mannequins dressed in drag, glitter and smoke. Shortly after the ride of the Valkaries comes booming over the sound system as 3 figures each dressing in black walk up on the stage. Before sitting down the drummer, Ja Underwood, removes his t-shirt and puts a trilby on. After one last blast of smoke they launch in to their familiar opener, Bombs. It’s the story of a degenerate gambler who keeps betraying his family for the tumbling dice and loses it all again. Its chorus is a three man chant of “I wish this city would go on forever, Lit in a fragrance of torture”. Bombs is followed swiftly by Bad Boys toy, a cautionary tale telling of lead singer Jopez’s lack of respect for woman during which the soundman jumps on stage to adjust the bass drum microphone and has to skilfully dodge bass player Sergio Bentley’s flailing bass guitar as he swings and stomps his way through the song. All this is followed by a group of songs that are introduced as new tracks. One is particularly memorable for its chorus of “I love myself, no love for anyone else”. The last of this bunch is a based on a 12 bar blues turn around and it invites to scantily glad ladies to join the boys on stage for a provocative dance. They end their set with Cheap sort, a jagged urban confession of a scumbag with the infamous line of “Ive Spent Fifteen Dollars on a ten Dollar Whore”.
After the show I introduce myself to band and I’m promptly grabbed by the head and Jopez Smears the sweat from his forehead on my right cheek. Before I can react a tequila is shoved down my gullet and the night descends in to a blur of alcohol, heavy breathing, smoke, scantily clad woman and I’m sure a bath tub was involved somewhere along the line.
I awake the next day covered in bruises and a smear of ink on my arm that reads “From Paris to Prison you C**T!” A fitting sign off to a battering experience.
- Gutter Magazine